Cape to Cape MTB
Into Middle Earth
Catriona Sutherland / 23.10.2017
Rolling up to our third venue of the Cape to Cape, the fanfare began at Colonial Brewery near Margaret River, a change up from the groomed vineyards from previous days. Equal measures of excitement and exhaustion filled the field. Day three was about to deliver a delight of epic proportions thanks to hardworking locals who’d upgraded the trails in time for this anniversary edition.
As waves gathered, I stood in line, shying slightly to the back and keen to shake out my legs after yesterday’s brutal interruption. Behind me, a rider reached over and tapped me on the shoulder, “Are you the girl who hurt herself yesterday near the end?”
Yep. That’s me. The wailing lady that limped over the finish line. “ I was the guy who pushed you along.” A gave him a huge thank you and told him he’d been given special mention for his encouragement and kindness.
With weary legs, I rode off with our group, heading towards a mix of trail and tarmac for 20 kilometres. Eventually the road gave way to the usual fast, sandy tracks through the forest, finally dropping us out at a farmyard and open fields: prime kangaroo territory. Knowing how they like to jump out, I kept a lookout, keen to not be mowed down for a second time. Dust rose in the distance and soon the second pack was motoring by - whippets in lycra blasting past to get to the good stuff. We’d been promised Middle Earth today, a mash-up of trails that oozed flow and features for those with a singletrack mind.
For another 20 kilometres, we carved and flowed through tight trees, over man-made rollers, lively log drops and steep, sandy berms. At one point, I cut through the centre of a burnt out tree; an eery gateway for riders as they whooshed through this seemingly endless stream of trail. With names like Helm’s Deep, Frodo, Bilbo Baggins and Mordor - each had it’s own flavour of mythological magic. Mordor was a series of red, razor sharp rock and sporadic lumps with no obvious line. These murderous blockades were interwoven with tight, crooked trees to make turns a challenge at pace. Despite it’s lack of incline, it wore at my jarred neck and required steely focus to avoid an intimate moment with nature.
As we met the main track, shouts and cheers from supportive locals and families filled the forest, a sign that our single water point was coming into sight at 39 kilometres. I’d been so dialled to the trail that I’d hardly eaten or drunk a thing and so stopped to have a quick fill up, followed by a caffeine gel to power me home. Riding onto my oh-so-favoured pea gravel, I joined with other riders, drafting our way with turns to make easy work of the long straight.
Pulling off from the road sharply and suddenly, the course arrows decided they weren’t yet done with singletrack for the day as we punched and kicked our way through some newly cut sections - a mix of familiar, slick mud and a man-eating waterhole that had me close to waist deep. We weren't done with water yet either. After the days of hard rain in the run up to the race, a giant puddle (where I’m sure Danny Macaskill was still hiding out) lay in front. An eager photographer coaxed us on; I watched the guy ahead slowly sink and almost cry out for a snorkel. Up next, I rode on and emerged out the other side successful, hopeful he’d snapped his shot of the day.
On the final few kilometres that would take us to a 55 kilometre conclusion, we rode loose gravel on to tarmac, looping back towards the familiar blue arch; the signal our ride was over for another day.
Time to grab a beer and get ready for the final showdown!
SleepMonsters
